


Nothing Wrong With That

by Cherry_Pye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Smut, Teen Sam, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24654028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry_Pye/pseuds/Cherry_Pye
Summary: Dean joins Sam in the shower for some fun.100% smut.Written before all of my other stories, actually (but then presumed lost), so if it seems eerily similar, that would be because it inspired bits and pieces of nearly everything I’ve posted.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 202





	Nothing Wrong With That

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: underage Sam (as per usual), although you don’t necessarily have to read it that way.

Sam let the swift streams of cool water cascade down his chest, turning his face upward into the flow and sleeking his hair back from his forehead with the pads of his thumbs.

His thoughts drifted easily to Dean, as they so often did these days…every damn second, it felt like, but especially when he was in the shower, his cock twitching half-hard right away at the flood of images overwhelming his mind, images detailing his brother’s new...physical nature when it came to the two of them.

Just barely physical and not NEARLY enough of the time, but enough, at least, to drive Sam close to crazy in the best possible sense of the word every time he and Dean were so much as alone in a room together.

Waking up to Dean touching him in the shadows of their darkened room at night, smooth, firm touches up the sides of his thighs, over his stomach, pressing into his skin, mapping him…

Sam shuddered with a stifled groan, one hand sliding down the length of his body to tightly grip around the base of his cock as he keened forward against the slick tile, sucking in a deep, stuttering breath.

He’d wanted Dean for years now...had realized it with undeniable certainty in a single, significant moment, in a rush of puzzle pieces clicking together one hot, summer night when he was fourteen and Dean had taken him swimming in the dark at a secluded lake near where they had been staying.

Dean had slowly undressed in front of him, God-like and effortlessly perfect under the moonlight, waking up an all-consuming yearning deep in Sam’s chest that he had finally, with a new sense of clarity, understood.

And while Dean had begun to show signs of having some of the same feelings very shortly after (to Sam’s awe and initial disbelief), it hadn’t been until just over two months ago that any of it had begun to take on a more solid shape, coming to a head that first night Sam had awoken from a deep sleep to Dean’s hands on him.

He hadn’t said a word, wouldn’t have known what to say even if he  _had_ been able to figure out how to speak.

Staring wide-eyed at his brother in the dim light, he had nervously inched closer on the mattress, the little pants and barely-there whimpers that had been spilling out helplessly from between his lips apparently giving Dean all the confirmation he had needed to keep going.

And since then, it had become a fairly regular occurrence, an unspoken ritual of sorts between the two of them that Sam knew he wasn’t supposed to talk about or even initiate, despite the fact that he desperately, almost frantically at times, wanted it to be...just-...more.

With another quiet sound, he jacked up and down over the length of his cock, biting his lower lip and imagining what it would feel like if Dean touched him there…nearly cumming on the spot from the thought of that alone and wondering with a stab of desire if Dean ever did this while thinking about him.

As if on cue, the bathroom door suddenly opened with a low creak, and Sam froze, his hand still clenched firmly around his cock as he strained to listen over the steady patter of the water...just…waiting…not even daring to move a single muscle.

Finally-

“Shit, Sammy? I…had headphones…wasn’t paying attention. I…”

Sam breathed out noisily, his heart beating far too quickly and his mouth suddenly very dry.

“It’s um, it’s fine, really,” he stammered much more quietly than he’d meant to, unsure if Dean had even heard him and notching up the volume of his voice just in case, “-you…it’s fine. You don’t have to go-”

Shit.

That had sounded-

“-I mean you can, uh, be in here…do whatever you need to do…”

He trailed off anxiously, his throat clenching as the sound of retreating footsteps didn’t come.

Dean even just existing passively in the same space with him while he was touching himself was something he knew right away he’d be jacking off to for quite some time...

“Yeah,” Dean responded softly, slowly, the word velvety low and petting at Sam’s cock in a way that had him biting down furiously over the tip of his tongue to muffle an instinctive groan, “-just gonna shave…at the sink.”

Sam tried and failed to reply to that, increasing his hold around his cock and desperately turned-on just from Dean’s presence to the point of feeling utterly overwhelmed by it.

He fixated the full capacity of his senses onto everything he could pick up on from where he guessed Dean was standing, every little movement, every sound, every shift…wanting more than anything to sneak a glance at his brother around the edge of the curtain but knowing immediately that it wasn’t an option.

“Can you, uh, hand me the gray washcloth…on the hook in there?” Dean suddenly asked, his voice catching roughly in between words, and Sam’s vision blurred just from that, his stomach tingling with little pricks of electricity.

He knew that there were three clean washcloths folded directly by the sink, right there next to Dean, which could only mean that Dean was grasping at excuses to be able to look at him, like this...which was…which was…so fucking hot that he almost couldn’t stand it…

Recklessly, impulsively, he decided to give Dean the washcloth with just…a  _bit_ extra, to gage his brother’s reaction, to see how far he could push this without making it overly obvious, without digging himself into a hole he wouldn’t be able to climb out of.

Snatching the washcloth with trembling fingers, he murmured a breathless “mmhm,” hesitating for a long, uncertain moment poised with his other hand reaching for the curtain before sliding it open around his torso. 

Keeping the lower half of his body obscured from view, he slowly peeled the wet vinyl enough to the side to reveal the full length of his chest and stomach, extending his hand and offering Dean the cloth with a tentatively-flirtatious smile playing at the corners of his mouth despite his racing nerves.

Dean actually back-stepped his way directly into the edge of the sink in response, his gaze trailing blatantly down Sam’s dripping body before jerking upward again to his face, his pupils instantly doubling in size and his chest rising and falling visibly around suddenly uneven, shallow breaths.

Sam’s eyelids drooped heavily, primally, at Dean’s sex-flustered body language, his own breath quickening to a pant that was completely beyond his ability to control and his expression melting into something that he tried, too late, to scrub away.

But Dean just cleared his throat in a strained, staticky drag like he’d suddenly become aware of himself again, of his own reactions, of Sam’s reactions to  _his_ reactions…moving forward hastily in two sliding strides to gingerly pluck the washcloth from Sam’s fingers and lingering there for an impossibly long few seconds before turning his back again hastily enough to crack a bone in the side of his neck.

“Thanks,” he breathed out delicately after another tense pause, stepping toward the sink as Sam slowly slid the curtain closed again, his elbows falling immediately to his knees once he was fully out of Dean’s sight and his eyes squeezing tightly shut against the tidal wave of intensity that had been contained in just those few tiny interactions between the two of them.

His heart was hammering like a drum in his chest, his head fuzzed-over with it all, with the implications of…god, of everything that had just happened, and he remained motionless in that position for an unknown amount of time, just listening, waiting…struggling to process, but Dean wasn’t moving either…until-

Sam’s jaw twitched at the sound of a zipper, at the soft rustle of dragging fabric, and he straightened up with a small gasp that was thankfully lost to the steady tap of water hitting tile, his hands clenching fiercely together in front of him and his thoughts sparking with jumbled, overheated ‘what-ifs’ and tangled up half-explanations for what Dean might be doing.

He was changing…he was-he was-

“Sammy-” Dean finally murmured, saying it almost like a question that he didn’t want to finish asking, his fingers wrapping, to Sam’s absolute disbelief, around the edge of the curtain and pulling at it very lightly, urging it open again, centimeter by centimeter.

And it was all too much, too unthinkable for Sam, collapsing him front-first into the shower wall in an attempt to hide himself as Dean unfathomably, uncharacteristically, climbed in behind him without another word of an explanation, reaching forward to flick at the faucet knob by Sam’s hip and warming the water around them.

“Dea-” Sam tried, breaking off immediately, his voice a whimper of want that couldn’t have been more of a give-away if he had done it on purpose, but Dean just shushed him gently, big palms finding his shoulders and rubbing down into tense muscle, easing him away from the wall, not far enough so that they were skin to skin, but…jesus christ, so close…so fucking close.

Dean reached past Sam’s side, grabbing the soaped-up washcloth that lay forgotten in a drape over the faucet and very lightly trailing its frayed edges across Sam’s upper back, the minuscule sensation shooting hair-raising shivers up and down Sam’s arms and embarrassingly tugging another quiet, needy whimper of a sound from the back of his throat that he couldn’t contain.

Dean sighed deeply in response like he couldn’t help it either, actually buckling Sam at the knees through a dizzying rush of realization, of understanding, but before he could topple himself against the wall again, Dean was swiftly wrapping a strong arm around his lower stomach, supporting the bulk of his weight, actually holding him upright as he continued to pull the washcloth intently over Sam’s skin with little hums of words that Sam could barely hear over the blood pounding feverishly in both of his temples.

Drawing up and over the crook of his shoulder now, Dean skimmed the cloth down Sam’s chest, moving to drag the rough fabric directly over Sam’s left nipple and pressing in firmly with the tips of his fingers, breaking Sam into pieces with it, dragging him over that invisible line he’d been trying so desperately not to cross and keening him backward against his brother’s chest with a shuddering, muted groan that instantly stripped away the last of their pretenses.

Dean tightened his hold possessively around Sam’s stomach with a low growl of his name, bending his head to brush his lips gently over the top of Sam’s ear and murmuring, “Just relax, Sammy, yeaah, good, good, just...helping you, that’s all, just relax.”

He moved the washcloth to trail provocatively, pointedly, over Sam’s other nipple, using his thumb through the fabric to press in maddening little circles that had Sam’s toes curling and his cock leaking, his head tossing back even further onto Dean and his entire body tensing at the almost-too-much sensations...at the fact that, god…fuck, that Dean was naked and...holding him and touching him.

The muscles in Dean’s upper stomach were flexing and unflexing repeatedly against Sam as he worked the washcloth, and without thinking, without being capable of higher thought processes even, Sam stepped backward with his feet, connecting them flush together and pressing Dean’s hard cock solidly into the curve of his ass, the new position dragging a deep snarl from Dean and nearly stopping Sam’s heart as he breathed out bits of his brother’s name in reverent, whispered fragments, shivering convulsively and reaching urgently for his own cock to ease some of the impossible pressure-

But Dean was suddenly twining through his fingers and easing them away again, his hips moving in subtle, steady sways from behind, in hungry little urges of forward and back friction and his breath hot on Sam’s skin as he brushed his lips up against the side of Sam’s neck, dragging his teeth in a downward stripe.

“Just, let me. Just…washing you,” he pressed, the tip of his tongue snaking out to flit across the top of Sam’s collarbone, pulling another needy moan from Sam as he forced himself to settle under his brother’s touch, to keep himself from reaching for his aching cock for a second time...wanting desperately to be good for Dean, to give this to him exactly the way he wanted it.

He was more turned on than he had ever known was even possible, his organs nearly combusting with it as Dean used his other hand to slide up and down Sam’s waist in swift, strong strokes.

Sam briefly wondered if he might pass out as Dean shifted to reach around Sam's lower torso from the side, now pressing in with rhythmic caresses directly above Sam’s crotch, Dean’s own cock swelling against Sam so fucking obscenely and hotly that Sam could barely even suck the smallest bit of air into his lungs, gulping in loud, hitching, shallow breaths while Dean continued to murmur to him softly, saying things like “good, Sammy,” and “that’s it, I’ve got you,” his heartbeat giving away his own impatient anticipation as it thrummed fast and hard against Sam’s shoulder blade.

Dean suddenly hesitated, his hand halting and his body tensing like he might pull back, but before Sam could even properly begin to protest, to reassure his brother that he wanted this more than he’d ever wanted anything (despite that fact already _being_ beyond obvious), Dean was exhaling in a rush and moving the washcloth the final inch downward, sliding his grip upward to circle around Sam’s cock and jerking his own hips roughly with a long pant of Sam’s name while his fingers tightened claimingly, almost painfully.

Sam sobbed out in response, bucking eagerly into the friction, but Dean’s other palm hastily flattened over his stomach, stilling him, keeping them pressed inextricably together while Dean slid his fist in firm, greedy strokes up and down Sam’s cock, thrusting into the crest of his ass to the same rhythm and hissing out nearly constant swears and praises against the side of Sam’s neck.

In almost no time at all, Sam was scrambling his feet against the slippery tile with a litany of mewling gasps, his weight almost entirely supported again by Dean’s draping arm and his abdomen coiling tightly with strands of razor-wire need, his cock leaking and filling and jerking under Dean’s fingers and his eyes rolling hazily back through a stabbing pool of electric shock growing deep in his stomach.

Dean understood before Sam could even figure out how to say it, growling again with a full-body shudder and closing his fist even more firmly as he simultaneously bunched the fabric of the washcloth down with two of his fingertips to then swipe his thumb directly over the wet slit of Sam’s cock in a slow, rough slide.

He was instantly folding more of the washcloth down sloppily, frantically, to get to more of Sam, to touch him everywhere, choking out a strangled, “Fuck, Sammy, fuck, fu-, come on, come on, Sammy, I need to see it, fuck-jesus-” that tore Sam apart like he actually might be dying, stiffening him down to his last muscle and throwing him immediately over the edge into an orgasm that felt like nothing he’d ever experienced...his head thrashing back over Dean’s shoulder and his mouth opening around a silent cry while Dean’s own thrusts turned messy and desperate, his nails digging painfully into Sam’s stomach and his thighs spasming wildly.

“Fucking _nnnh_ -Sammy  _fuck_ -” he gasped, slamming into Sam from behind with an animalistic growl and cumming almost violently in panted jerks, jacking Sam throughout with erratic, too-hard pumps...the washcloth completely forgotten now on the tile floor and Sam soon hanging limply, writhing and moaning, against his brother’s unmovable hold.

Finally, after what seemed like forever and nowhere near long enough, Dean gradually stilled...quieted with another full-body shiver, his fist hesitantly loosening on Sam while he murmured little shushes again over Sam’s ear and continued to rub the length of his softening cock under the flow of warm water.

Sam erupted into another bout of helpless whimpers as Dean worked over the head, swiping with the rough pads of his fingers and groaning out a breathless, “Jesus…god” as Sam’s cock painfully tried to twitch hard again under his pets. 

After another teasing few rubs, Dean moved back with his hips just slightly, testing Sam’s ability to stand by easing his arm very slowly away and finally urging Sam forward, leaning him gently into the wall, where Sam stayed exactly as Dean had placed him, his thoughts stretched and unfocused and still burning…searing hot.

Dean slid feather-light skims down Sam’s back, the sensation shuddering his spine and pricking his arms with goosebumps while Dean continued to hum quiet, gruff little sounds from behind, finally reaching the very base of Sam’s back and cupping his hand there to pool it with water.

Letting the built up water leak through his slowly spreading fingers and down the split of Sam’s ass, he followed the little rivulets with his touch, squeezing the air from Sam’s lungs instantaneously in a loud gush as he rubbed down directly over Sam’s hole, breathing heavy and shallow again and pausing his hand there for a long, unbelievably erotic second to push against Sam with the smallest bit of mind-numbing pressure before sliding back up again, leaving Sam shaky and panting out half-formed little begs while Dean just leaned in to press his lips softly, gently between Sam’s shoulders.

“Just washing you, Sammy,” he murmured in a low voice, reaching for the shower knob with one hand, his other splaying out pointedly over Sam’s back, claiming him...telling him without needing to actually speak it who he belonged to.

“Just…helping you get clean. Nothin’ wrong with that…yeah? Nothin’ wrong with that...”


End file.
